Havana

Chapter 6

The Soviet Trade Legation was located on the upper floor of the new Missiones Building, nos. 25 and 27, in a section of Centro Havana formerly known as Las Murallas-the Walls. At one time the old city's walls had been the dominant feature, but they were now being dwarfed in the building boom as American-financed and — designed skyscrapers were taking off like rocketships all over the landscape, as Havana transfigured into Miami. The Missiones Building, however, had been designed by a Frenchman, and so it lacked the bold, soaring modernism of the New Havana of Batista's second regime; it looked, in fact, like something out of Barcelona or Madrid in the twenties, rather than something out of Las Vegas in the fifties.

And so it was that Speshnev, in espadrilles and loose-fitting peasant's trousers and shirt, found himself sitting across from a rather intense young man in a suit, with hair brilliantined back glossily, who looked more like an American investment banker than a Soviet spymaster. Young Arkady Pashin was brilliant, feared, despised, connected, vigorous, tireless, ruthless, ambitious and oh such a pain in the ass.

"Speshnev, you were supposed to be here at 10 A.M. It is 10:05 A.M. This is not acceptable, it is not permissible, it is not desirable. We must maintain tight discipline here. We are outmanned, under-budgeted and without adequate resources. Only discipline and dedication will see us through here, through these difficult times. Do you see?"

"Pashin, they told me you would be a monster. But, young man, I had no idea that you would also be such a little prick." He smiled warmly.

"Look, old goat," said bloodless Pashin through thin lips, "this was not my idea. I have a number of very promising projects going on here. This came from some doddering genius at Moscow Control who knows nothing of the complexities of the situation. I don't need a hoary old myth who's disobedient and insubordinate, eating up my time and budget for nothing."

"It was a nice day in the spring sunshine. An old man wandered a bit on the way over, to smell some flowers, to smell the warm sea. The Boss would have sent me back to the gulag for such treason, but at least for now, Pashin, you lack the power. You have to play along. It has been ordered. So any shit you give me is unsanctioned, pure sport on your part."

"And they said you'd be a proud one. Still the Comintern movie star. The vanity, the narcissism, the love of self. That is why you'll never be a true Soviet man. You can't let the love affair you have with your mirror go; you're too used to being special."

"I am a humble servant of the people. Just make certain you get the name right. It's Zek 4715."

"All right, all right. This is getting us nowhere. You have a job to do, that is why you are here. I'm assuming you're already on it."

"I don't report to you, Pashin."

"No, but my reports will help you or hurt you. Wouldn't it be nice if mine helped you and yours helped me."

"Both our reports should help the revolution, that's all. But to get through the business, yes, I've nosed around. I've seen our young prince. Did you know he has a nickname? I assume he was initially your discovery? So you have a lot riding on this and are probably annoyed I was brought in to handle him, because you were not considered experienced enough. Well, his nickname speaks of his power, his promise, his grand possibilities and your excellent nose for such matters. Do you know what it is?"

"I am not interested in―"

"It's 'Greaseball.' Evidently, he's so anxious to hurtle into the socialist future, he periodically forgets to bathe. Ugh. Did you smell him before you saw him? I can't stand a dirty fellow when there's no excuse for it. I have quite recently gone nine years without a bath. Not pleasant. I will bathe every day of what little life I have left."

"Forget his odor. Concentrate on his potential. Have you heard him speak? It's magnificent."

"I have heard accounts. He likes long ones, or so I hear. And I hear also he likes the spotlight."

"He is ruthless; he has already killed in the gangsterismo politics of the forties; he is dedicated; he believes, if in nothing else, in change. He has that thing you have, Speshnev, that most of us lack. The magnetism."

"It's called charisma. Yes, I have it. Yes, you don't. Yes, he does. Yes, I suppose he has some potential. If only he learns to trim his fingernails."

"This may not be as easy as you think. There has been a development."

"And that is?"

"Batista's secret police aren't a threat, at least as long as Castro is benign and an orator, not a fighter. The time for fighting is still some years off, and it is your job not merely to recruit him and train him and prepare him, but possibly also to protect him."

"From what? His wife's wrath at his mistress? Or his mistress's wrath at his wife?"

"No," Pashin said, sliding a photograph across the desk toward Speshnev, "this man's commitment to his duty."

The photo had been snapped at the Havana airport. It was of a group of men leaving the Air Cubana Constellation's stairway and heading to the terminal. One was flashy in his white hair and two or three others clearly bowed to him in body posture, factotums or assistants or eunuchs or whatever.

"This one?" Speshnev asked, pointing to the member of the group who was also not a member of the group.

"That one."

It was a large square-headed American, with a jutting jaw and a crewcut.

"A soldier?"

"According to embassy gossip, a killer. He killed in the war, many, many times."

"Oh, yes, there's a word for that. I think it's 'hero.' Why is he here?"

"Ostensibly as the bodyguard of that showy one there. That's a famous politician in their country. But this man for some reason was recruited to accompany the politician to Cuba. Our Washington people have noted it and alerted me. They find it curious."

"And…"

"And we don't know why. Maybe just because. Or maybe it's that if you had to kill someone, this is the man you'd want to do the killing. He's not like the rest of them. Give him a job, he does it."

"Hmmm. That doesn't sound like them."

"No, but maybe they're thinking of changing their ways. They want to get the attention of certain people in certain countries and this would be a very good way to do it, wouldn't you say?"

"Possibly."

"So I think you should look about carefully. See what this fellow is up to. And…"

"And?"

"And if he's here to cut short the career of the prince of all our dreams, Zek 4715, then it's simple. You must be the faster, the better man. You must kill him."